Steve Martin: a Wild and Crazy Role Model

Until last week, I was reading three books at once, all of which included a whole lot of human suffering.

Book #1: the Bible, specifically the Book of Job, a book that reminds me that at any moment, God could takest everyone and everything away and give me skin ulcers. I wouldn’t be reading it except I’m in a Bible study, and I am a teacher’s pet when it comes to homework.

Human Suffering book#2, Shelter in Place, by Alexander Maksim, is my before-bed book, meaning I read it for roughly four minutes before my body does that herky-jerky thing that babies do as they fall asleep. This one’s about murder and justice, domestic abuse and mental illness. Yippee.

My third book, Hanya Yanagihara’s A Little Life, I experienced via Audible, listening while the puppy and I were out on walks, or as he likes to call them, Las Persecuciónes de la Ardilla. Squirrel Hunts. A Little Life is the most painful, most deep dive into the most darkened lives of human beings I have ever read. It was traumatic. And I loved it.

With A Little Life completed, I went in search of a lighthearted Audible book and came across Steve Martin’s memoir, Born Standing Up, narrated by Martin himself. Yes, I thought, the perfect voice to hear whilst out on squirrel persecutions.

What I got from Martin was a beautiful story of passion, perseverance and the desire for precision in his work. His commitment to his arts, along with his success in comedy, acting and writing, reminded me of what we need to survive and grow as fiction writers.

First, You Never Arrive

Martin explains:

There was a belief that one night on The Tonight Show made you a star. But here are the facts. The first time you do the show, nothing. The second time you do the show, nothing. The sixth time you do the show, someone might come up to you and say, ‘Hi, I think I met you at Harry’s Christmas party.’ The tenth time you do the show, you could conceivably be remembered as being seen somewhere on television. The twelfth time you do the show, you might hear, ‘Oh, I know you. You’re that guy.’

In other words, it can take forever to break in. In other, other words, no one thing guarantees an artist a lifetime of financial success and renown, much less a quick trajectory to fame and riches.

It’s tempting to think, hope and desire otherwise: that once we are published in The Atlantic or once we get an agent or once we land a hefty book deal, there’s only smooth sailing ahead. But as writers, we should never stick into our front lawn a big neon sign that says, I HAVE ARRIVED. Just ask any author and she will share scarring stories of low book sales, of being orphaned by her editor, of books being remaindered and sold on Bargain Books! tables. A writer’s professional road is long and unpredictable, quite simply because we writers don’t have full control over how our work is received in the world.

But take heart! We do have control in other arenas. We can control that we will write one scene by dinnertime or send out three agent queries by Friday or write for thirty minutes a day, every day. Martin too focused only on how he delivered that evening’s show. That’s all. Let’s stick that neon sign in our front lawn: I FOCUS ON WHAT I CAN CONTROL.

Next, Learn the Rules Before Breaking Them

In his stand-up, Steve Martin was a goofball. A wild and crazy guy. He used magic, banjo playing, nose glasses, balloons and bananas in his shows. In his early years, when the audience was very small, he would take his show (and the audience) out into the street. He sang songs through his nose. He did unmagical magic tricks. Not everyone understood him. But many people were surprised by him, and surprise (the Steve Martin kind) lights up our brains.

Martin knew how and when to break the rules because he had spent so many years studying the craft and delivery of humor. He knew, for example, that audience members were supposed to laugh at the punch line. But as he became more experienced, Martin wondered,

What if there were no punch line? … What if I headed for a climax and all I delivered was an anticlimax? What would the audience do with all that tension? … [I]f I kept denying them the formality of a punch line, the audience would then pick their own place to laugh, essentially out of desperation. This type of laugh seemed stronger to me, as they would be laughing at something they chose, rather than being told exactly when to laugh.

The idea of a comedian without punch lines? Terrifying. And rebellious. And brilliantly fresh. We too have to understand the craft of traditional storytelling before we can monkey with the structure. e.e. cummings understood the rules of grammar before he set out to break them. Picasso painted realism before making portraits with ears and eyes stuck in unorthodox places. Before Jimi Hendrix played guitar with his teeth, he learned to play with his fingers.

I sense that’s why Martin’s audience members were willing to follow him out into the street. They trusted him.

Finally, Surviving the Silence and the Hecklers

Martin speaks of one show in particular where, after twenty minutes, he realized he had not gotten one laugh. Not one. I would have cried. Martin however, decided to go for a record. “I set my mind to it,” he says, “and finished the show without having roused one snicker.”

That’s some cajones grandes.

When he was heckled, he did not surrender to the inebriated jerkwad in the crowd. He responded by lowering his voice, speaking his routine so softly that the audience couldn’t hear a word. If the heckler continued, the audience would shut him up. Brilliant. Also brave and tenacious.

The heckler who was likely hardest to ignore was Martin’s own father, who never once (according to Martin) complimented his son for his hard-won appearances on shows like Saturday Night Live. Even worse, Martin’s father wrote an article for a professional newsletter that disparaged Martin’s performance on SNL. I would have cried. Martin did something else: never again discussed his work with his father.

Seriously. Cajones grandisimos.

We will have periods where we feel that the only one sitting in our audience is one fast-asleep woman. Times where our audience doesn’t laugh or cry or understand. That’s okay. We must press on. We must keep learning and refining our craft, trusting the trajectory that comes as a result of hard work and dedication to honing our craft.

Likewise we will absolutely run into strangers and loved ones, like Martin’s father, who are neither kind nor encouraging. Perhaps their jealousy does not make room for their compliments and praise. Perhaps they don’t understand our work and they aren’t willing to ask questions that might clarify. I enjoy being liked by as many people as possible so when others don’t like me or my writing or my kids or my puppy, it stings. On the other hand, I refuse to let a heckler silence me, at least for more than a day or two. Sometimes three.

I am grateful Steve Martin didn’t either.

Will you share? How might you describe the trajectory of your own writer’s journey so far? Share what is unique about the style or structure of your work (nose glasses? balloon animals?). How do you manage the silence or the hecklers? Who are your favorite creative role models? Any tips for an owner of a squirrel-obsessed puppy?

Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her husband, son and daughter. A crummy house-cleaner and terrible at responding to emails in a timely fashion, Sarah chooses instead to focus on her fondness for chocolate and Abe Lincoln. She is working on her third novel while her fab agent pitches the first two to publishers.

Comments

For my middle grade and YA characters, I often visit my own childhood. It’s a scary place, but I have to keep in touch with that kid. Otherwise, I’d be all grownupish in my voice, and nobody wants to read that. Mostly I remember scenes from that kid’s life and think, “How would Quentin Tarantino handle that in the film version?”

Good times…

Really, though, my key is to take the common scenes of our youth and change it up to what we wish would have happened. You know, the words or actions that come to mind three hours after the bully shoved you in the lunch line or the cute girl flashed that little smile that MUST MEAN SHE LIKES ME.

It’s simply a matter of setting the record straight. I write the kids I wish I would have been. Maybe the kid I really was, but just didn’t think fast enough back then.

Thanks for a great post. I blame Steve Martin for much of my behavior.

Wow. This is a fabulous comment, Ron. But first, treats don’t work. He’s like a squirrel-seeking missile and once he’s locked on, neither salmon nor hot dog nor foie gras can distract. I try to be proactive, treating him before he locks on, but I now see there are millions of squirrels in the world, and right now, they all seem to live in my neighborhood.

Things I loved in your comment: the idea of setting the record straight and writing the kid that we wish we had been. That’s just so heart wrenching and lovely. Readers root for the kid who embodies what they/we could never be. YET there’s also the element of WWQT do? That’s brilliant.

Thanks, Sarah. I love Steve Martin’s work as a comedian and as an actor. His zaniness masks his cerebral approach to his work. Most of my creative role models are musical artists. In particular I admire Paul McCartney for his devotion to song craft and Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, who is a relentless perfectionist. Yorke is a life long learner who explores all different forms of music and sound. He pushes boundaries. He is never content to rehash his own hit songs. I like to model his approach and apply it to my writing. I read widely in all genres, though I pretty much stick to one genre in my writing. I am notorious for making countless revisions to my work. Thanks for this great post.

Thanks for this, CG. Yes, Radiohead and McCartney. Such good examples of commitment to craft and boundary-pushing (or simply leaping over boundaries and exploring entirely new regions). I do admire that as it’s a risk; fans tend to not appreciate change. Maybe because it feels like betrayal? Maybe we like to think we know what an artist creates and don’t like to be surprised when he or she changes course? David Bowie should also be mentioned . . . he never seemed to question his morphing identity. Maybe he did inside, maybe he had a great deal of inner terror, but fans trusted him and were willing to follow wherever he would lead them.

Do you ever find it’s difficult to know when you’ve reached, “perfect enough”?

Thank you, CG. And yes, Steve Martin is one of the most thoughtful/cerebral/astute artists I know. And so zany. Perhaps smart + zany + fearless + perfectionist is the winning combo.

Good question, Sarah. After I self-published my first novel, and tore out most of my hair in the process, I concluded that a novel is never going to be perfect. We just have to make the decision at some point to let it out into the world. Sometimes perfect is the enemy of the good, but it’s worth reaching for. Thanks again for another thoughtful post.

Absolutely (re: the knowing when to let go). I also wonder if it doesn’t take a bit of “know thyself,” i.e. if I know I tend to be a slacker, then what I think is “good enough” might not be. And if I know I tend toward perfectionism, then I might know that “good enough” probably is more than good enough. Maybe?

Yes, this. Also, I love how he branches out (no one’s mentioned the Grammys for his bluegrass albums and his Tony nomination for Bright Star yet?). Fearless, intelligent, ruthlessly dedicated to the artistic craft–such a fantastic example of the artist I want to be. Sarah, thanks for the reminder and the inspiration.

Thank you for your comment, Grace. Martin is a renaissance man for sure. And his novels! I know they haven’t received the glowing praise that his other work has, and I have only read Shop Girl, but I thought it was quite beautiful, peaceful and so smart too. I have a feeling that even if he not gotten famous, he still would have pursued his various realms of art. I so admire that.

“It’s tempting to think, hope and desire otherwise: that once we are published in The Atlantic or once we get an agent or once we land a hefty book deal, there’s only smooth sailing ahead.”

Ha! Not true. I can tell you. Audience and respect have to be earned all over again with each new book.

This ain’t no country club. It’s not the case that once you’re in, you’re in. You can be out in a heartbeat, which is to say with one wildly unearned advance.

But who wants to join some literary country club and bask in complacency, copy-cat thinking, or the isolation that is mistaken for exclusivity and privilege? I’d rather be challenged to constantly prove myself and hone my storytelling chops.

Keep your golf club and par-for-the-course plots. I like it better out here on the high wire.

Not to disparage country clubs, but I don’t like country clubs, probably because there’s one nearby, where I like to walk my puppy, and I have been yelled at twice for walking there without living there. It’s not a gated community, so it’s fair game in my opinion.

All this to say . . . what was I saying? Oh yes, safety. CC residents don’t want riffraff wandering into their bubble because they prefer safety. I’m not a big fan of their safety bubble, but there are loads of other dogs on leashes so my dog gets some good sniffing in. In other words, I do it for him. And because the houses are big and garish, and I like to make up stories about those who live there. But I don’t want to disparage country clubs.

Three cheers for the high wire. It’s thrilling and totally unsafe and there’s not a protection bubble, and that’s how I’d prefer to live.

Love Steve Martin. I do know a little bit about him but had never heard that about his father. And re Job, I read it again a while back. For the first time, the fact that Job did nothing do deserve his suffering really resonated. Life entails suffering. If we don’t push through and try to enjoy gifts like writing — even when we aren’t always supported or understood — that is tragedy as well.

Yes, Jamie! Suffering is inevitable. Suffering also leads to opportunity to persevere and that leads to character building; and character building leads to hope. Those are Paul’s words, not mine.

My 13-year-old son has always gotten by on his natural skills. Now, he’s actually having to work if he wants to succeed and grow, and he’s scared. Of failure, mostly, and perhaps of hard work. My husband and I are trying to beat that out of him because better to fail than to never try. Better to push and experience bumps than to surrender. Thanks for making that point.

I imagine most of us writers have the ability to feel feelings more deeply and intensely than others. This means we both suffer and rejoice more intensely. Good fodder for character building and for fiction writing, no?

All this said, I hope to only suffer in small, here-and-there moments. I’m all talk, I see, when it comes to the joy of suffering.

Sarah, what a great piece! Thank you. I think writing is the only work in which you’ll never arrive — there’s always so much to learn. I hope I die pen in hand.

I fell into magazine writing fairly quickly and then work-for-hire. I cut my writing teeth with some incredible editors, who preserved my voice, yet taught me the importance of clarity, above all things. But some of the biggest criticisms came from my critique group who thought I could be working steadfastly on my novel. I do see their point, because the only way you learn to write a novel is by writing the darn thing, but frankly, I am glad to have taken the path I did. I learned to write tight, develop relationships and credentials, and earned some money too. Now, after 15 yrs, I do a lot of juggling but I’ve also completed two novels. I did learn how to write a big book. But I realize that not all ideas are book-worthy. Some are best for magazines. I get to explore many ideas, road test a few before I develop them into books. And guess what? Many of my critique partners went on to do a fair bit of WFH themselves and it was a rewarding experience for them too.

For the squirrel-obsessed pup: gentle leader. I still use mine because at 8 yrs old the squirrels, particularly the fox squirrels, are still taunting my dog and I don’t want my arm getting pulled off.

Funny, our parish is also studying Job right now too. Maybe they just finished the Ignatian study guide on it or something. LOL.

Hi Vijaya. I couldn’t agree more. I was an English teacher before having kids, and now I earn money with freelance writing and editing. I know with 100% certainty that those skills assist me in my own fiction. And the work gives me money. :)

Have you read Martin’s book? I love that he started with performing magic. He also listened obsessively to Laurel and Hardy albums, later using that training to feel comfy on stage with both magic and comedy. It took him years to climb a well-worn rope . . . and while I am sure he often wondered what the heck he was doing and why, he persevered. We WU’ers do that too, thank goodness.

Hey Sarah, As usual, you got me thinking this morning. All morning, in fact. I’m a big fan of Martin’s, particularly of some of his movies which I think are underrated. But I got sort of sidetracked in thinking about your conversation with Chris about inspiration from musical acts. And as I was considering the many musical acts that inspire me, and Martin’s reference to how many Tonight Show appearances it actually requires to achieve any sort of notice, the song The Cutter, by Echo and the Bunnymen, randomly popped up on my iTunes.

I’ve been a huge Echo fan since college (yep, I’m that old). While they’ve been around for over 30 years, and many artists cite them as an influence, they’re still relatively obscure in the States. When the song The Cutter came out in ’83, many British critics were proclaiming them “the next big thing.” The story goes that their label at the time was disappointed in their sales, and kept comparing them to U2, who had achieved some breakthrough appeal in the US and elsewhere. I’ve heard that the band’s frontman and primary creative force, Ian McCulloch, grew to hate the comparison. The record label execs wanted him to write less gloomy, more anthem-like songs for their new album (ala U2).

While there are a lot of fan theories about the actual meaning of the lyrics for The Cutter (self-harm, a sailing vessel, etc.), the one that I’ve adopted has to do with how the British rock scene’s TV and radio shows used to overbook each show with extra acts, in case they needed to fill time. “Spare us the cutter,” then becomes a plea to the broadcast execs not to chop them from their chance in the spotlight. I think most artists can identify the feeling behind the lines: Conquering myself again Until I see another hurdle approaching Say we can, Say we will Not be another drop in the ocean

If that’s not a prayer to avoid artistic obscurity in the face of potentially crippling self-doubt, I don’t know what is.

It’s funny to me, in thinking about the U2 comparisons Mac resented, that when the song reaches its anthem-like crescendo, and he sings: “Am I the happy loss? Will I still be soiled when the dirt is off?” the instrument they chose to soar with this somewhat downbeat series of questions is bagpipes (very Irish, much like that other breakthrough band). Coincidence? In any case, it seems clear to me that he’s talking about selling out versus staying true to himself. “Am I the happy loss?” Will the record company execs care if he sells his soul artistically and still doesn’t achieve breakthrough success? Well, as I said, they’re still considered fairly obscure, but over the years I meet more and more artists who love them. I think that enduring appeal is largely due to Mac’s refusal to sell out.

When I first got involved in the writing community, I was talking to another writer who wondered why in the world I’d chosen epic fantasy. (As Stephen Kings says to people who question his choice of horror: “You think I had a choice?”) And over the years I’ve had several people question my lack of the typical tropes in my work—particularly magic. And I used to spend a lot of time second-guessing myself. Have you ever noticed that no one really talks about who Echo and the Bunnymen sound like? I mean, we all talk about who Coldplay or The Killers sound like, but not Echo. Those who know post-punk rock just *know* what Echo sounds like. And although they certainly had influences, there’s not a lot of need to talk about that. Musically, they’re just who they are.

I guess what I’ve slowly figured out over the years is what Vaughn Roycroft epic fantasy sounds (reads) like. I’m not saying I’m special or more unique than anyone else. But I’ve gotten to the point where there’s not a lot of point to pondering what I should’ve done, or who I should try to be more like. Although I still make the plea to be spared the cutter, and don’t want to be just another drop in the literary ocean, I’ve finally accepted that this is just who I am.

I fell in love with Echo & the Bunnymen in high school. Does that make me older or younger than you? ;)

Echo is such a good example (and they were playing in Seattle in September–you could have come out here!) and I am happy to know that a band I liked at age fourteen is cooler than I ever realized. Thank you for sharing. I also loved and continue to love U2, mostly Bono and the Edge, but I can see how it would absolutely chafe to hear a publisher say, “Sarah, can’t you be a little more like Rowling or Piccoult or Dr. Seuss?”

My sister is a musician, and her first album was fairly mainstream. After she made it, she realized she hated it. It made her cringe. ALL of the music she has made since has been much less “accessible” to the average American. Decades ago I wondered why she couldn’t just gain success by going with the traditional, accessible stuff, make money and get fame with that, and THEN make the kind of music she wanted to make. Now that I am a writer, I see why she couldn’t. I can’t either. It would kill me to write a story that’s not me and I would kill the story. How did Sarah die? Mutual libercide.

Thank you, Vaughn. I absolutely understand why artists decide to create what sells, even if it’s not what has “chosen them.” But I’m glad you have not. Three cheers for you and the other brave souls.

Great post, Sarah. Thank you for that. We need reminders of what it takes to pursue our ‘art’.

Writing is not for sissies especially today. I like that Steve Martin kept thinking outside the box, and persevered even when he had a significant naysayer in his life. That’s courage.

I also appreciated his sharing that it took many Tonight performances before his career took off. But having said that, one appearance was already a huge step on that ladder.

What I got most from your post is how important it is to have faith in one’s abilities and to realize that success isn’t predictable or guaranteed no matter how wonderful the writing. Audiences and readers can be fickle. It requires what we all know, talent, hard work and good luck.